


Retreat, Hunter One

by tarmetiel



Category: The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Dark, Alternate Universe - Military, Amputation, Canon-Typical Violence, F/M, Fluffy Ending, Heavy Angst, M/M, Medical Inaccuracies, Modern Middle Earth, lets be real its mostly gimli, so much swearing, untrustworthy medical advice
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-29
Updated: 2020-07-29
Packaged: 2021-03-06 04:48:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,001
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25597573
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tarmetiel/pseuds/tarmetiel
Summary: In a Middle Earth that has both technology and magic, Frodo’s failure to destroy the ring causes strife for our heroes. Aragorn, unable to convince his allies to follow him to the Battle of the Black Gate, has decided to infiltrate Morder with Legolas and Gimli to find the ring - or die trying
Relationships: Aragorn | Estel/Arwen Undómiel, Gimli (Son of Glóin)/Legolas Greenleaf
Kudos: 23





	Retreat, Hunter One

“They aren’t coming.” A voice crackled over the radio.

Aragorn glanced between Legolas and Gimli, eyebrows pinched together. “Repeat that, Minas Tirith.”

“Hunter One, I repeat, they are not coming to aid.” The voice crackled again. Jumbled half-words of an explanation continued until the connection was dropped entirely.

Gimli fussed with the comm box, fingers working over the unfamiliar knobs and switches, stumbling to fix the static, grumbling under his breath about how this was not his job. With a nod, he motioned for Aragorn to try to connect again. Aragorn tapped the headset once more. No connection. Gimli swore. Legolas reached out a hand, deadpan, and waited until Gimli placed the comm box into his grip.

“Your elvish ways have no sway over technology, L.” Gimli muttered. He immediately held his hands up in apology at the dagger-like glare from Legolas’ eyes. “Sorry. Forgot.”

Legolas snorted. Shaking his head, he started working on the box. Silence rang loudly between the three of them; only the noises of Legolas’ work punctuated it. Gimli readjusted his pack’s straps. Aragorn fiddled with his thigh holster, checking on his gun. It seemed an eternity until Legolas looked up from his work.

“It should work now. I think.” Legolas croaked. Gimli reached up to grasp his shoulder in thanks. Aragorn lifted his chin quickly in acknowledgement, then tapped the earpiece.

“ - repeat, they’ve been recalled.”

The blood drained from Aragorn’s face. Grim rage was barely held in check by a clenched jaw. “Who gave the order?”

“The Commandant General, Hunter One.”

Aragorn snorted. 

“You’ve been recalled, Hunter One. Full retreat.”

“No,” was the strident answer. Aragorn made a cutting off gesture with his hand. Legolas fiddled with the knobs on the box once again, creating static before dropping the line. Aragorn pulled out the earwig and placed it not-so-delicately in its secure box, then slipped it into his pack.

“What are we doing then, A?” Gimli asked while securing the box into its pack. “Fucking off?” Legolas elbowed him, eyebrows drawn in disapproval. Gimli nudged him with his shoulder. “What, you want to save these fuckers? They deserted us.”

“G.” Legolas’ icy retort stopped what would have been a long rant about humans.

Aragorn had started pacing after putting away his earwig. “It’s just us. No reinforcements.” He brought a hand to his jaw. “Denethor and Theoden must have been compromised.”

Gimli snorted. Legolas elbowed him. “What?” barked the dwarf, “We knew Denethor the dickhead was going to back out as soon as Bor died. Not only did we lose our comm officer but we lost a damn army because of it.” Bitterness edged the anger drenching every word.

“Don’t blame the dead, G.” Legolas’ soft reprimand cut off another rant Gimli was working himself into.

“I’m not blaming the dead, I’m blaming his damn father for being a coward!”

Aragorn cleared his throat, “L, G, shut up.” The two glared at each other, elbows and shoulders nudging each other enough that a small smile appeared on Aragorn’s lips. He indulged them for a few moments more while he checked his sidearm. Magazine for the C96 was locked, loaded with all the hope they had left.

The decision was a big one: go in and save the world from slavery, most likely dying in the process, or retreat now and figure out a new plan. It would involve too much time, too much ground lost in this centuries long war, to plan a new strategy. And who could he trust? Humans? They already made their play: retreat. Non-committal and tired, so tired of losing all their men and a good number of their women to this fight. There wasn’t enough hope left to count on any of them but a choice few.

That left the Dwarves or the Elves. The dwarves had steadfastly kept their borders but couldn’t - or wouldn’t - commit to anything more. They’d been shunned by men and elves alike for too long to offer their army. Add the fact that their cities were hidden, even against the most modern of scanning equipment, and the three of them would never find the dwarves in time.

The elves had played out their hand - their long game of so-called pacifism that was really hundreds of years of manipulation had been revealed. Their plans stretching out and clawing their way into all of Middle Earth, twisting truth and myth, fabricating trust and hope, stuck in Aragorn’s throat like a stone, choking him with its weight.

He forced himself to concentrate. There was only one true choice. 

“We’re going in.”

Legolas nodded, Gimli grunted. They were going in.

* * *

It was a long run. They ran in a tight line through the hills towards the looming city of Barad-dur.

Huffing, Gimli grunted out, “Remind me of the plan, A?”

“I shoot the ringwraiths, we find Frodo, we destroy the ring.” Aragorn’s reply was short, terse.

“Sounds like a shit plan,” was the immediate response. “Fun times.”

Legolas’ hoarse voice rang through, “Ringwraiths don't die, A.”

It was a minute before the response came through. “This will kill them, L.”

“Aye, so you say, A. But how the fuck do you know? Shot any of them lately?” Gimli quipped.

Aragorn glanced back. “The bullets were made from the broken sword, G. They’ll work.”

“Sounds like a shit sword.” Legolas quipped.

Gimli started to slow. “Oh fuck, we gotta rest,” he grunted out as he increased his pace to keep up. “So. We’re betting on that gun that looks like it’ll break if I touch it, let alone kill some unkillable fuckers? Fantastic.”

“It’ll work. Shut up or leave.” Aragorn’s reply was testy.

“Why would we leave? This is a nice romp. Love the view.” Gimli retorted.

“Never said I wanted to leave.” Legolas grumbled.

Aragorn sighed.

* * *

It was dark. Everything was covered in ash, mist, and smoke. The streets and buildings were coated in grime. There were no people in sight. The Eye towered over all, sweeping its blood orange gaze westward. 

They were quiet, moving through Barad-dur, the city built haphazardly between the base of Mount Doom and the Eye. Legolas kept his eyes on the rooftops, gaze constantly roving side to side through the acrid air, trusting Gimli in front of him and Aragorn behind. He strained his ears, desperate to find any sign of life in this city in the shadow of the volcano. 

He heard his team; their breathing out of sync but steady, their heartbeats pounding with adrenaline, their footsteps as silent as combat boots can be. He did not hear anything else.

Finally, a noise. Something tangible. A quickly drawn in breath, small. A familiar click of ammunition being loaded. Another familiar click - 

“Down, they’ve got a sniper.” Legolas’ own words were so loud amidst this quiet, though it was but a murmur into their coms.

Suddenly the roar of gunfire, of a bullet screeching towards them, of it racing through his skin, of blood pounding out of his flesh with every heartbeat.

And everything was ringing silence.

He was down. He knew he was alive. He saw the orange tinted air above him, he saw the haze twist in weird shapes around him. He saw Gimli kneeling over him. Gimli’s mouth was moving but no sound was coming out. No sounds in this dank, gritty city.

Gimli was shouting, screaming obscenities that sliced through the silence in the desolate city. Legolas’ eyes were unfocused, and blood was pouring out of the side of his head. Gimli quickly rummaged through the med kit strapped to his leg, securing a bandage over the long graze. He felt rather than saw Aragorn rush off into the shadows to find the shooter. 

Heaving, he slung Legolas across both his shoulders and started running. He made his way into what looked like a recently abandoned building by kicking open the door. After clearing the room, he dumped his load onto the floor near the door, then proceeded to check the other two rooms. Feeling somewhat secure, he communicated the coordinates to Aragorn, unbuckled his med kit and opened it, and drew his smaller hand axe. 

Legolas’ eyes were still unfocused, but they were open and looking at him. Gimli tossed the med kit next to Legolas, then motioned with his free hand for Legolas to breathe slowly. He pointed to his ears, saying slowly, “Can you hear me?” 

Legolas fainted.

With a barely murmured “Fuck”, Gimli set to work. Cutting through the field bandage, he lifted the packed gauze to assess the wound. Graze, deep, ragged, over right ear, ethmoid through temporal. The shot had removed a chunk of his right ear as well. He quickly shaved the long, matted hair with his axe and started stitching it shut with tight, even stitches. By the time he was finished, Aragorn had found them.

“It was a kid, G.” the man’s voice was not steady.

“That kid almost got L,” was the sharp reply as his hands worked steadily, bandaging. 

“Not here to kill a kid.” 

“Not here to watch him die.”

“Fair point.” A pause. “I took his gun.” It clattered to the floor.

Gimli snorted as he finished packing the newly stitched wound. “That’s something then.”

Aragorn knelt near Legolas’ head. He paused, glancing at the quick, efficient movements finishing up the bandaging. “How bad, G?”

Gimli took a breath. Started to say something - opened his mouth - paused. Took another breath. “I think...I think he’ll be okay. I suspect he’s lost hearing. The bullet glanced off his skull, A, right above his ear. Stitched him up best I could, but it took part of his ear off. Either of us would lose hearing, but with L? I don’t know.” His hands cradled Legolas’ head tenderly, brushing back the blonde hair. A second, soft, “I don’t know,” came unwillingly from behind his beard.

“We need to rest, then.” Aragorn was all business now. “You take a rest too, G, and I’ll be first on watch. We need him up and moving as soon as we can, but don’t you dare give him any wakeup meds, he won’t be calm for months.” he turned back from the window he was disappearing out of. “Open com link, G.” Then slid out into the semi darkness.

“If someone would let the Medicals adjust meds for elves, we wouldn’t have this problem,” Gimli muttered, “but no, no...the elves never needed medication, so why would they need it now? They have sun shining from their assholes to brighten this sad, dreary world, they don’t need meds for when they get hurt, just some random ass leaves.” His muttering continuing, he shrugged out of his jacket and lay it over the unconscious Legolas. “Elves would never go into fucking battle and get shot in the fucking head, taking off a fucking ear, oh no, why would the delicate chosen ones do that? They wouldn’t need any bloody pain relief because they never leave their damn forests. Just make everyone else across the damn land do their bidding. Old ass bastards.” He then settled himself next to him, prepping for a kip. He dozed, keeping an ear out for Aragorn’s return.

“Fuck the elves,” a crackling voice spoke up. A hand reached out, grabbed Gimli’s.

“What the fuck, L, you awake?” Gimli sat bolt upright. “Stay down.” Straining to keep his voice quiet, his empty hand pushed down on Legolas’ shoulder.

Legolas’ eyes fluttered open. “What?” He started to raise up on his elbows, only to be pushed back down. “Fuck are you doing, G?”

“Keeping you down so that you don’t faint on me, again.”

Legolas’ eyes grew wide. His grip was tight, but grew tighter.

Gimli paused. He squeezed Legolas’ hand in reassurance. “Hey, you got hit pretty bad, L. You need to stay down.”

Legolas started shaking, his breathing fast and shallow. “I can’t-- I can’t hear you G. I can’t hear you and I can’t -”

Gimli swore. Taking the hand in his up to his chest, he held it there, breathing a deep, slow rhythm. His other hand moved to grab Legolas’ free hand, then moved both to the elf’s chest, feeling the shaky breaths through their gear. Achingly slowly, Legolas matched his breathing to Gimli’s just in time for Aragorn to return.

“He actually awake?” he sounded strained, belying his worries.

“He’s awake and freaking the fuck out. Can’t hear me,” Gimli replied, trying not to change his breathing. “You best get on the other side of him and take a look. We need to change the bandage anyway, it’s soaked through.”

Aragorn was quick to help. Bandages unwound and pulled off delicately. As Aragorn worked, Gimli clutched those still shaky hands with all his might.

The near stillness drove Gimli mad. He couldn’t think of everything that was happening, he had to focus on one thing at a time, or his world would crash to a halt. One breath. One breath. One breath.

Time. It took time. Time and air. Air that was choking in it’s sulfuric state, but still carried enough oxygen to keep him awake, to keep him alive. Time and air, that’s all he needed to recover. TIme and air and medical attention - no. Time and air and their hands clasped together, breathing in sync, this moment suspending time, elongating the hours, minutes, seconds. He would be fine, and then they would keep moving.

“I can hear you.” Legolas gasped out.

Aragorn smiled. “Good. I am glad, L.”

“Thank fuck.” Gimli breathed out.

“Not. Not completely. Only one side, I think. It’s hard to tell.”

Aragorn checked his watch. “We have time for a kip.”

Legolas jolted. “We don’t, you know we don’t.” He moved to get up, and huffed when Gimli’s hand pushed his chest down. “The fuck, G?”

“If A says we have time, we have time.”

“I’m saying we have time.”

“See? We have time.”

Legolas rolled his eyes.

“Take a nap. You look sleepy.” Gimli retorted.

“I’m covered in blood. How is that sleepy-looking?”

“You lost blood, you’re tired. Shut the fuck up and rest before I sit on you.”

“Both of you shut up. Rest. I’m taking watch.” Aragorn barked, smirking.

  
  


There was a faint ‘clink’ that came from outside the door. The three swung their various weapons towards the noise, all joking vanishing. The sound echoed, almost getting louder with each reverberation. Seeing nothing, Aragorn stepped towards the window, keeping to the wall.

Another ‘clink’ softly crashed through the air, and another, louder, definitely louder but still so delicate. Not a grenade, not a smoke bomb. Something small. Something light. Something metallic. A light wom-wom-wom-wom rolling sound. A final clink. An echo that pushed on the ears. And the air was filled with silence again.

They glanced at each other. Aragorn, gun in hand, shaking his head at the window - nothing outside, nothing seen. Legolas, sitting up as straight as he could, rifle up and ready. Gimli, shotgun oscillating between door and window.

Nothing.

Aragorn made familiar hand signals; he will check the door, Gimli to recheck the rooms, Legolas to stay put. A silent argument between Legolas and Aragorn happened for approximately ten seconds before Legolas admitted defeat by an eyeroll. Gimli had come and gone in the other rooms before their silent squabble had completely finished. He nudged Legolas’ hip with his boot, cocking his head, questioning if he needed help up. Legolas nodded quickly, regretted the swift movement, and threw a hand up to Gimli.

Aragorn opened the door slowly, so slowly. Something caught in the orange light - golden, beautiful.

A ring.

“Fuck,” slipped out of Aragorn’s lips.

“Is that what I think it is?”

“Yeah, L. It’s the ring,” was the terse reply.

Gimli choked.

Aragorn moved through the door, stepping over the ring, scanning the city around them. Nothing, nothing, noth- there. A body. A body, at the top of stairs. A small body. Oh no.

“G, go check the stairs. L, you up? Need you as eyes.” Everything that was so slow was now lightning paced. Gimli helped Legolas up and moved out. Legolas, still shaky, geared back up quickly and followed.

Gimli was assessing the body, signaled a sign of pulse, signaled that it was a friendly. He brought out field dressings, packaged the body up and picked it up bridal style - it was someone small enough for a dwarf to carry easily. Someone who was clearly unconscious. Gimli was making his way back, his whispers sneaking through the air. “We got you, we got you. Just a bit more, laddybuck.”

Legolas saw the small, pained face and bit back a cry. Sam. It was Sam. A civilian, someone who hadn’t the training to be doing this but did it anyway. Who had been separated from them because of elves meddling. Sam, beaten, covered in blood, gashes through his body. As Gimli passed him to move into the house, Legolas moved forward to find a high vantage point and tried to put those emotions to the side. He couldn’t. He followed them inside, leaving Aragorn still standing over the ring, guarding the building entrance. 

Sam was laid down on the floor - nowhere near Legolas’ puddle of drying blood - and Gimli started working. The measures he had taken to stem the flow of blood were not effective - he started again. Sam was saying something - trying to speak but only puffs of air burst out of his mouth.

“Kid, keep breathing. Stop talking. You’re gunna be fine.” Gimli grunted out as his hands held back blood. He angled slightly, still keeping his eyes on his work. “I need a hand, A.”

“Busy,” Legolas responded as he knelt by the dwarf. “Tell me what you need.”

“No. No,” Sam was quietly protesting. “Don’t bother, Gimli. I’m...not gunna make it. But you. You have to know.”

“Lad -”

“Frodo.” Sam sobbed. “They killed him.” He coughed wetly, blood splattering his lips. “They caught me. Something happened. Don't know.” This time the cough went on and on. Hacking blood into the air, onto his face and chest. “The ring. I had it. Tried to - tried to hide.” His cough was weaker now. “They’re. They’re coming.” The cough was a gurgle of blood. Sam’s head lolled to the side, eyes blankly staring into the void.

“Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck,” was all Gimli could utter.

Legolas pulled Gimli’s hands off the wounds carved in Sam’s chest and abdomen. Closed Sam’s eyes. “Let’s go, G.” 

The two got up, slowly. A silent conversation; cover his body? Yes, use that tarp. Rinse off your hands. Rinse off his face. We can’t do anything more. No, we can’t. Fuck.

They found Aragorn just outside the doorway - he hadn’t moved from his position over the ring.

“With Frodo dead, we have to get this ring to the volcano.” Aragorn tersely said. “I think if we divide the carrying, we will have enough time to get there and throw it in.” He was about to say more, when a screech cut through the air.

“Wraiths. Cover!” Legolas barked.

Aragorn did not hesitate - he grabbed the ring, shoved it into a pocket, pulled out his C96, and got under cover. The wraiths flew over them on their terrifying dragon-like creatures, flying towards Gondor. Thank fuck, he muttered. 

* * *

They were on the move again.

It was harder, this time. Not the overbearing quiet of the city, or the ashy, volcanic air. No, it was the ring that weighed down their pockets, carefully timed for an hour only. Sharing the burden of the thing they needed to destroy. Sharing the knowledge that Frodo was dead. Sam was dead. That this, truely, is the last hope hanging on them.

It was at the base of the volcano when a wraith found them.

Legolas yelled out to find cover, hoisting up his rifle with practiced ease and shooting the dragon through the eye. It screamed and fell as the wraith astride it drew a sword and jumped off its limp frame towards Aragorn. He deflected it with his rifle, its sword flying from its hand. Aragorn raised his C96 and shot, point blank, at the wraith’s face. Bullets tore through its head.

With a scream the wraith disappeared.

The small smile on Aragorn’s face dropped when he turned to see where the sword had fallen. It pinned Gimli’s right hand to the ground. “Shit.” Aragorn whispered.

Legolas was by Gimli’s side in an instant. He pulled out the sword and tossed it aside, then leaned down to retrieve the med pack in Gimli’s kit. Aragorn was working on the hand already, trying to see how much - if any - of the poison had entered in Gimli’s system. 

“Just cut it off A,” Gimli gasped through the pain.

Aragorn shook his head. “It’s salvageable.” He spit back as he worked on what was left of Gimli’s hand.

“Cut. The fucking. Thing. Off.” Was the bitten off reply. “Poison. Is a real. Fucking. Thing.”

They stared at each other. Legolas broke from the entryway to their hiding spot, surveying the damage. His eyebrows knit together. He looked at Gimli, worry written on his features. “You sure?” He murmured.

“It’s useless.” He grunted, pain making him dizzy. “If it’s gone. I can. I can strap my. My axe to it.” His breathing was becoming more labored. “Cut it dammit!”

Legolas got Gimli’s axe from his belt, and handed it to Aragorn. 

“We need a flare.” Aragorn said, slowly. “It’ll hurt like a bitch, G, but it’ll cauterize it.”

“Stop fucking talking. And just. Do it,” gasped Gimli.

Aragorn nodded. He took a flare from his pack, lit it, and used the fire from it on the axe blade. Handing the flare carefully to Legolas, he stood up and swung the axe down on Gimli’s wrist. With a cry, the dwarf fainted. Legolas passed the flare back. Aragorn angled it to burn the bleeding stump of Gimli’s forearm.

“We have to let him rest, A.”

“We don’t have time,” was the sad reply. “Need to get into that volcano.”

A pause. “I’ll carry him.”

Aragorn nodded. “Gimli can’t carry the ring while he’s like this. It’ll just be the two of us. One carries G and the other the ring.”

Legolas nodded, already bending down to settle Gimli on his shoulders in a fireman carry.

* * *

Gimli woke with a moan of pain. His hand hurt too badly to stay unconscious any longer. His eyes fluttered open, and he noticed that he was flung over a shoulder. His eyes closed against the dizzy feeling creeping up the back of his skull. He tried to open them again, but couldn’t manage it at first. He heard voices, familiar ones. A moan escaped him again, and he heard Aragorn’s smooth cadence: “We should rest. There is a cave up ahead we can hide in.”

By the time he opened his eyes again, he was being shifted from a shoulder to the warm ground. It took a moment for him to focus on the person in front of him; blonde hair rusty from blood, right side shaved to show a still bandaged and bleeding wound, piercing blue eyes. Gimli felt a rough hand on his cheek.

“G?”

“‘m here L.” Gimli croaked. “Water?”

Aragorn handed him a water flask, eyes assessing him carefully. Gimli moved his arm out to grab it, and realized, too late, he had no way to grab it. His hand was gone, a stump was all that was left, skin melted and burnt at the end of his forearm.

“Fuck.” he murmured.

“Pain level?”

“Enough.”

Legolas held the water to Gimli’s lips as Aragorn checked over the wound. Gimli pushed the flask away with his only hand, eyes meeting Legolas’. “What’d I miss?”   
  


Legolas met his gaze, looked at Aragorn, eyes flying past the dwarf’s forearm to meet his gaze again. “You’re heavy.”

“So are you,” was the immediate retort, though no heat was behind it. “How’s the stump, A?”

Aragorn wound the last of their bandages around his forearm tightly. “It is as well as can be expected, G. You’re lucky it worked.”

Gimli snorted.

Aragorn continued. “We’re halfway up the mountain. Most of Sauron’s forces are making their way across the barren plains, it looks like. We haven’t been spotted yet, but the eye is searching through his city as we speak. I suspect he knows the ring is close.”

“Where is it?” Gimli queeried, motioning for the water flask again.

Legolas replied, “Aragorn has it.”

Gimli glared. “A, you best pass it along to one of us.”

“I shall take it, A. G needs to see if he can stand yet.” Legolas held his hand out, gesturing at Aragorn to hand it over. 

There was a pause before Aragorn did so, barely long enough to be noticeable, but he passed it along. He turned to Gimli as Legolas dropped the ring in a belt pouch, “You may need some of those wake-up meds, G. We can’t leave you here.”

“One step ahead of you, A. Gimme my med kit.” Gimli passed Legolas the flask, kept his good hand out for his kit. Aragorn passed it over with a grimace.

“What are you thinking, G?” Aragorn looked pained.

Gimli laughed harshly. “I’m gunna strap my axe to my arm, I’m gunna fight with you, A.” He held Aragorn’s gaze, as Legolas clutched his shoulder. “I have enough pain meds to make it. I’ll be fine.” He directed this at Legolas, whose eyebrows were knit in concern and anger.

Legolas snorted.

Gimli swallowed the meds he had counted out, flapped his hand and forearm in a familiar gesture for them to get the fuck out of his way, and stood. He paused for a moment before taking his axe and laying the handle along the length of his ulna. He nodded, and dug through his pack once more, finding strappings for setting fractures. He used these to strap on his axe, gave it an experimental swing. “This’ll work.”   
  


Aragorn shook his head. “You sure, G?”

Gimli nodded. “What’re we waiting for?”

They moved out.

* * *

  
  


They didn’t see the orc squad until it was too late.

It was the lone entrance to the volcano, near the top. The gate was easy to bypass, being old and worn. They slipped in, but tripped an alarm. The klaxon blared as they ran through the rough carved hallway to the glowing orangey-red light before them. Orcs swarm behind them, twenty in all, shooting at them wildly.

Gimli roared a war cry as he turned towards the enemy, raced back towards them, swung his axe in deadly arcs, his other hand shooting his pistol with desperate precision. Legolas threw Aragorn the pouch that is too heavy to contain only one small ring, shouted at him to go, heaved up his rifle with practiced ease and started shooting. The two moved in sync, holding off the orc soldiers calmly.

Aragorn grabbed the pouch mid-air and rushed into the volcano, blocking out the desire to stay with his friends, his team. He ran along the bridge until it came to a harsh end in the middle of the volcano. He stood at the edge, ring in hand. He heard the battle behind him, the axe breaking through flesh, the daggers being buried in necks. He no longer heard bullets; he should be worried by that. 

He knew this moment was stretched out, stretched thin. He just had to drop the ring. Such a simple action. Turn his hand over, and drop it into the lava below, and all this...all the death, all the struggle to survive… will be over.

His fingers started to close around the ring. Because with this ring, he could sway the government - hell, he would  _ be _ the government. He could guide the people the right way, better than now. All the problems he had with human society - the waste, the ignorance, the malice - could be changed. No more heaps of garbage, no more deep seated hatred towards other races. With this ring, he could change everything.

He stood. The moment is vast. 

He knew deep down, what he needed to do. 

He took a step.

* * *

Legolas stood in the sand for the first time in his life, gazing on the vast ocean. Why he wanted to visit here first, after all they’d been through, after everyone they had lost, he did not know. The gulls called out, shrieked insistently. Taking in a deep breath of the salty, humid air, he sat calmly. He felt Gimli next to him, felt his hand close over his. He closed his eyes, letting himself hear, only once, the alluring call of the west.    
  


He recalled when he was told of this moment, when Gandalf spoke to him words laced with death from Galadreil herself; once he heard this call, he would have to travel over the ocean. No choice but to follow the beautiful music and the deep desire to be with his people. No choice but to die.

It was discordant and sharp. Painful in his left ear, barely breaking through in it’s jarring notes to his right. This was not a call, this was a horror. There was nothing alluring in its notes, nothing welcoming, nothing wanting. 

He forced himself to focus. Was this how he was meant to die, hearing sharp notes stabbing into his ears? No. No this was not what that prophecy meant. It couldn’t be. Galadriel was wrong yet again. And wasn’t it like her to make her words vague? To place a heavy weight upon him for months? 

What a conniving bitch.

Turning to Gimli, he squeezed his hand reassuringly. “I will not go west, G.”

“Good,” was the sharp reply. “Fucking elves, eh?” 

Legolas snorted. “Fucking Elves,” he returned. 

They stood, brushing sand off themselves and each other. They turned from the west and headed inland, hands clasped tight.

Discordant notes slammed into his sensitive left ear once, the malevolent chord clanging its disapproval, then faded behind him.

* * *

Legolas switched the radio on as he passed it, taking a seat on the newly built bench that still smelled of cedar.

\-  _ according to the agricultural council. In other news, Lord Faramir Steward is holding a press conference tomorrow, addressing the explosion at the hospital which took his father’s life and nearly his own -  _

His eyes gazed across the newly planted orchard. Neat rows of three different fruit bearing trees, squat in their infancy, ran along the west side of their home. They wouldn’t be ready for some years, but it was something he could look forward to; quicker than the trees of his old forest home, but slow enough to appreciate each branch and leaf that appeared.

_ \- as you may be aware, the explosion was caused by malfunctioning oxygen tanks in Lord Steward’s recovery suite. Our insider's information tells us that the former Commandant General, Lord Denathor Steward, was experiencing an episode just before the malfunction occurred. -  _

A bird flew into his sight, flitting about the orchard trees in search of a perch. After alighting, it sang out a short song before making its way to the sunflowers. Legolas smiled, the trill a calming tune to his ears. His hearing hadn’t come back to his right ear, and the scar on his scalp still hurt from time to time, but this bird and this orchard and this land all soothed him deeply. 

_ \- Thanks to the bravery of Beregond Isenion, the Lord Steward’s bodyguard, Lord Faramir was saved, despite having just come out of a lower leg amputation surgery for a battle injury he sustained one week prior to this incident. - We suspect that this press conference will address the death of the hoped-for king, Aragorn Elesar, who gave his life to destroy the ring and save us all. - _

His gaze shifted to the pergola, covered in hops that were almost ripe. They’d be able to brew soon, have a decent amount of kegs to store in their cellar for the winter and spring. Legolas smiled, thinking of Gimli’s fussing over their growing patterns, rigging up paracording in interesting lines to keep them tidy and beautiful while they grew taller and longer each day. The sheer amount of ladders needed for Gimli’s work was enough to make the elf chuckle at the mere thought. 

_ \- The Noble council is in conclave, with decisions needing to be made now that the descendant line of the kings of old has been cut tragically short. The High Wizard Gandalf is said to be in the conclave as well, as are the seven dwarf clan representatives and Lord Elrond of the high elf council - _

Legolas shut off the radio, all traces of smile gone. Of course the elves were dipping their fingers into this, manipulative fuckers that they were. They’d insist on having an opinion, and the human’s noble council would be assured along that line, unknowingly following a complicated net that would trick them into whatever direction the elves wanted to push men this time.

His inner rant was cut short when he heard - sensed, rather - a rustle to his right. His hand closed upon the dagger strapped to his thigh as he turned quickly. 

“I am sorry, Legolas, I didn't intend to startle you.” Arwen smiled at him softly. “We were just wondering where you were - Gimli is refusing to start digging the well until you’ve approved the placement too.” Laughter bubbled from her smile, though she tried to quiet it.

Legolas inhaled slowly and released his dagger, willing his heart to calm. He returned her smile with a small one of his own. “Gimli just worries his aesthetic sense isn’t right for the placement of things ever since we built the house. He keeps insisting to rebuild with the front door facing northwest instead of northeast, the idiot.” His voice was not as raw as it once was, and carried a new depth when speaking about the dwarf.

Arwen chuckled louder. “He wants to please you, as all spouses do. It is well that this is so, for both of you deserve peace, my friend.” Her hand clasped his, squeezing it reassuringly. “Aragorn cannot seem to do enough, though him being here is all the pleasure I seek. Look at that silly man, building us a dock. He has no idea what he’s doing, but it is adorable he’s trying.”

It was Legolas’ turn to chuckle, “Gimli will fix it, don’t worry.” He squeezed her hand back, then stood. “I’d best make my way over to G before he comes looking - or before he starts in at Aragorn about the dock.”

“Oh, I think that’s already happened.” Arwen replied as she also stood, smoothing the folds of her summer dress out and running a hand over a slightly curved belly. 

Legolas hopped off the side of the porch - the railings weren’t fully done yet, but soon he would have cut enough wood to finish them off - and trotted around the back of the house, Arwen following at a more sedate pace. The lake shimmered in the early afternoon light, dazzling the green forest surrounding it as it curved through trees until it rounded in the meadow and fields the four were cultivating. Aragorn, in waders up to his chest, was waist deep in the water, and was debating hotly with Gimli, who was gesticulating wildly with his shining, prosthetic hand. 

That feeling of peace settled on his shoulders once again. He saw this all in his head, as an eagle might; fields of crops, a small orchard, two little houses with a flower garden between, a stable and tool shed, all tucked in a large meadow next to a lake, surrounded by one of the largest forests in Middle Earth. Safe, far from the reaching hands of politics, with no war hanging heavy on their necks.

He smiled, then trotted over towards the shouting.

**Author's Note:**

> This fic started with a dream I had - the scene where the three hunters are infiltrating Barad-dur. It's been floating and rattling around in my head for over a year and I'm glad to say it's finally out and written. I have huge thanks for my two friends who are way more versed in LOTR knowledge than I am, helping me get as close to cannon as a modern AU can get lol. Thanks for reading, I hope you enjoyed it!


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